


Take This Longing From My Tongue

by ghostboi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean, Dean in Control, Dirty Talk, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Humiliation, M/M, Possessive Dean, Prompt Fic, Submissive Sam, Verbal Humiliation, brief mention of Ruby, brief mention of past Sam/Jessica, humiliation!kink, mentions of Jessica Moore - Freeform, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5578282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostboi/pseuds/ghostboi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean discovers Sam's kink for humiliation. And for him (which only adds to Sam's humiliation)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take This Longing From My Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill: "Sam has a humiliation kink, which Dean finds out about and acts on. Bonus (for me!) if you include face-slapping and spitting!"  
> Set sometime between seasons 3 - 5.
> 
> [Title from "Take This Longing" by Leonard Cohen (who is a freaking lyrical genius)]

Every time Ruby showed her face, it caused issues. 

Sam knew that, just as he knew his brother had zero trust in the demon. It wasn’t as if he completely trusted her himself – he didn’t – but he wanted to believe, sometimes, that there was some good left in others. He wanted to grasp onto hope when it offered itself. It wasn’t as if theirs was a life of sunshine and fun times: what they did took a toll on them. They paid the price, had been paying the price for a long time. Sam didn’t trust Ruby, but when she offered help, he wanted to believe it was sincere.

She had shown up, helped them out of a tight spot, and disappeared.  
Sam had been grateful for the help: Dean had been furious that the younger Winchester was still allowing her to show her face around them.

His brother’s anger hadn’t died when they crossed the state line into Nebraska. It was still present when Dean downed six shots of whiskey, one after the other, in a local bar an hour later. Sam knew his brother was a smart-ass at the best of times: it was worse when he was angry. Words led to more words, which led to a full-blown argument, which led to them staring one another down in the cheap motel room they were renting for the night. 

Dean was in the middle of a rant when the words, “I thought you were smarter than that, Sam! But I guess you proved me wrong, didn’t you?” left his lips. Sam swallowed hard, face flushing with humiliation at the tone of Dean’s voice, the bite in his words. He averted his gaze to stare at the far wall as he muttered, “Fuck you, Dean.” 

“Don’t get pissed at me because that bitch plays you every time she’s near you, and you let her,” the older man shot angrily, stepping closer, “And that’s exactly what she does. She wraps you around her fucking finger, and you’re foolish enough to allow it. You’re supposed to be the smart one, and you can’t even see what she’s doing!”

Sam shifted where he stood, heat rising to his face at the harsh words. A heavy ball of dread dropped into his stomach as he realized that the flush on his face wasn’t the only thing rising.

 

Sam had realized years ago that he was in love with his brother. He wasn’t sure how he could _not_ be, given that Dean was the center of his universe for so very long, and all he had. It wasn’t right, he was aware of it, but it wasn’t something he ever intended to act on.

He had also realized years ago, when he was a teenager and Dean was bitching him out for something stupid he had done, that he had a thing for humiliation. He had taken the verbal lashing his brother had given him in near silence, arms crossed over his chest as he tried to focus on anything other than his hardening dick. When Dean had walked away and left him alone, he had fled to the bathroom and jerked off almost immediately. He had been ashamed and fearful and had tried to ignore it after that night. He was only partially successful: those feelings rose in him again, every time that Dean bitched him out for doing something stupid or something he disagreed with. 

It had been only with Dean, though. Anyone else who spoke to him that way had been (and would still be) likely to end up with a fist in the face. It seemed to be only Dean who drove his odd kink for humiliation.

Then he had met Jess.

His former fiancé had been far more kinky than one would have thought upon first meeting her. She liked to experiment, and she liked to experiment on him. He had been drunk one night, after a friend’s party, when he had let slip his confession that he loved her and hey, while he was confessing love, he was also in love with his brother. Jess had stared at him for a long minute – Sam had been certain she was about to break up with him on the spot. Instead, she had shoved him back on the couch and straddled his lap. Then she had started to talk. Whispering in his ear how fucked up it was that he was hot for his own brother, how she should tell everyone they knew. He was humiliated and ashamed; the more she talked, the more ashamed he grew. Ashamed and very, very turned on. Jess had been clever, and brilliant, and beautiful; she had picked up immediately on his kink. She had whispered dirty, humiliating things to him that night, stroking him until he was begging her to come, and many nights after.

Other than Dean, she had been the only other person to ever affect him that way.

 

Now he was standing in a motel room, his brother in front of him bitching him out for his “sheer stupidity”, and he was having a hard time keeping his arousal at bay. He attempted to diffuse the situation with an eye roll and another ‘fuck you, Dean,” so that he could escape his brother’s presence until he calmed down. It, however, had the opposite effect: it only served to increase Dean’s anger.

The older man shoved him suddenly, sending him stumbling backward, and snapped, “I wouldn’t have to stand here and bitch at you if you would use your fucking head and stop doing stupid shit, Sam! I mean seriously, are you thinking at all where that bitch is concerned? Or letting your dick do the thinking for you?” The man gave him another shove, and it all went to hell from there.

The sound that escaped Sam’s throat as his brother pushed him against the wall was supposed to have been anger. Instead, it was a low, soft moan which escaped. There was no mistaking that sound - he couldn't even play it off as pain from being shoved against the wall, it was so obvious. His brother stared at him for a moment before stepping back, putting distance between them.

He felt his face burning as the other man’s eyes roamed over him, assessing him. He saw the way Dean’s green gaze narrowed as the man’s eyes flicked below his waist: he knew the other was realizing his current state of arousal, and panic rose within him.

“Are you -?” Disbelief and anger traced Dean’s voice, “Are you fucking hard? Are you fucking _getting off_ on this? What the fuck, Sam?”

Sam started to shake his head no, his face burning with shame and humilation now, but Dean’s eyes flicked down to his groin again. The bulge in his jeans was unmistakeable, and his brother raised eyes to him again, a scowl on his face.

“What. The. Fuck. Sam?” 

He started to push off the wall, intending to flee the room, but froze as Dean barked suddenly, "No!"

His eyes lifted to his brother as the other continued, "No. You don’t get to run from this." He dropped his gaze again as the other man added, voice nearly a growl, "Don't you fucking look at me." 

“It’s not –“ he started, trying like hell to think of something believable.

“Not what?” Dean interrupted before he could even begin to form an excuse, “That’s not your fucking dick causing that bulge in your jeans?”

His brother was clever, too, Sam had come to realise years ago. Clever and observant.  
Sam swallowed as the man stepped close again and taunted, “Tell me you’re not hard, Sam. Go ahead. Tell me you’re not turned on by me tearing you a fucking new one.”

He dropped his eyes again as Dean said, “Told you not to fucking look at me.” 

Sam couldn't stop the soft gasp as Dean’s hand shot out suddenly, striking him in the face.  
The blow wasn't as hard as some the other man had given him over the years, during their fights; just hard enough to sting. Hard enough to cause his dick to swell to full hardness, in spite of his internal plea for it to _not_ do that. He swallowed hard as his brother spoke, "You don't get to get a fucking _hard-on_ over me and then look me in the eyes."

His face burned, even as his dick twitched in the confines of his jeans, as his brother reminded harshly, "How fucked up are you, Sam? I'm your fucking brother!"

His voice was little more than a whisper as he started, “Dean..”

“What?” The tone was mocking now, “What, Sam? Going to try to tell me it’s not fucked up that you’re hard over me bitching you out? Because from where I’m standing, it’s pretty fucking fucked up. It’s fucking sick. I’m your goddamn brother.”

Another soft, hungry sound escaped his throat in spite of his efforts to hold it in. Dean had a look of derision on his face as he leaned in close to whisper, “You gonna cum in your jeans, you sick bitch? Huh? Bet you are. Gonna stand right here and cum all over yourself like the fucking dirty whore you are.”

Sam did precisely that.  
He tried to hold back but Dean’s harsh words were hitting his kink hard, driving him closer and closer to the edge of orgasm: hearing the man call him a dirty whore, in that whispered tone, pushed him right over the edge. He began to cum with a low, soft moan, spurt after spurt of it soaking his jeans.

When he managed to open his eyes a minute later, fearful of Dean’s reaction, the other man was staring at him with a peculiar look on his face. “Fucking sick, Sam,” the man placed a hand on the wall on either side of his head, leaning in close to murmur the words near his ear. He shivered as the other’s breath ghosted over his ear and neck, caught the scent of whiskey on Dean’s breath, “You realize you just got off over your own fucking brother? That’s messed up.”

Sam swallowed hard, throat making an audible click, as he raised his eyes to glance at Dean. He lowered them again immediately; his brother snorted, shaking his head, and turned to head for the door.

He almost moaned aloud again at the instruction which was tossed back over Dean’s shoulder,  
“Clean yourself up, bitch, before I make you wear those all damn night.”

 

They didn’t talk about it, just like they didn’t talk about a lot of things. It wasn’t one of those things Sam felt they needed to discuss: he would have been happy if it never, ever came up. Ever.

They didn’t talk about it, but he could feel Dean’s eyes on him. He knew his brother thought it was sick, and he didn’t blame him: he couldn’t help how he felt, but did he have to reveal it? He had, however unintentionally, and now he had to live with it, and with the looks Dean shot him. 

Two weeks after the motel room incident, they were in some two-bar town in Arkansas. They had finished their job earlier – a salt-and-burn at the local cemetery - and were sitting at the bar, having a beer, when Dean asked,  
“Why the hell do we always in up in these small towns with one bar?”

“This town has two bars,” Sam reminded, which caused his brother to smirk.

The brothers looked to their left as someone sidled up next to Sam and greeted, “Aren’t you a tall drink of water?” 

Sam raised a brow at the assessing gaze of the dark-haired man next to him; he grinned slightly and repeated, “Tall drink of water?”

The man chuckled, “It sounded better in my head, and in the movie I stole it from. I’m Jack. Not from around here, are you?”

He shook his head and supplied his own name, “Sam. No, we’re just passing through. Heading out in the morning.” 

The man shot him a slight grin and raised his brows, “That leaves tonight, then. You and the guy next to you have a thing? Wouldn’t want to hit on you if you’re taken.”

Sam huffed out a soft laugh, even as he heard Dean grumble something unintelligible next to him. “No,” he assured, “He’s my brother.”

“Oh, good,” Jack shot him another grin, “So, Sam, you have plans for the night? Stop me if I’m overstepping boundaries and you’re not into – “ He waved a hand, motioning toward himself, “- this. Guys. But man, you’re a fox so I have to ask.”

Sam chuckled again, rolling his eyes at Dean as his brother muttered so only he could hear, “A fox? Really?” His brother shook his head, a smirk on his mouth, and ordered two more beers from the approaching bartender. 

He turned his attention back to Jack, running his gaze over the other man. Good-looking, brilliant smile, great body. He could see himself hooking up with the other man, and in vivid detail. 

“No,” he finally said, giving the other a smile, “No plans tonight. What did you have in mind?”

Jack leaned in closer and spoke near his ear, “You, me, my apartment, and my mouth all over that gorgeous body.”

His cock gave an interested twitch, and he licked his lips. “Might be up for that.”  
Their eyes shifted to the bartender as the man returned and sat two bottles of beer down in front of Sam and Dean.

Sam’s attention was momentarily drawn from Jack as his brother leaned in close to reach for one of the beers. His breath caught in his throat suddenly as Dean locked gazes with him, leaned in slightly closer to murmur near his ear,  
“Gonna pretend he’s me when he’s fucking you, Sam?”

Sam stared at Dean for a moment, color touching his face at the question. Dean shot him a slow smirk before leaning in again to breathe against his ear so only he could hear the words,  
“That what you do, hmm? Pick up men in bars and pretend it’s your own brother fucking you? That’s dirty, Sam, and wrong. Fucking filthy.”

He was having difficulty remembering how to breathe, and his cock, which had been mildly interested at Jack’s offer of fun, was straining now against his jeans. He exhaled a long breath before tearing his eyes from his brother. He glanced at Jack, whom was watching them: he saw the awareness cross the man’s face as Jack studied him.

“He really your brother?” the man asked with a slight smile. 

“Frat brother,” he heard Dean respond, the lie slipping smoothly off his brother’s tongue, “We’re in the same fraternity in college.” 

Sam blinked at Jack as the man leaned in close and told him, “Believe me when I say that I would _love_ to take you home with me tonight. I really would. I don’t think, though, that I can compete with your buddy over there.” Sam swallowed as the other man winked at him and suggested with a grin, “You two have fun. Maybe we’ll run into each other again some time.” 

Jack slipped off the bar stool and shot him another grin, before crossing the floor toward the back of the bar. 

Sam turned his hazel gaze to Dean as the man commented, “Looks like I scared him off. Oops.”

“What – Why - ?” Sam swallowed hard and shook his head, eyes dropping to the bar in front of him. Shut up, he told himself, just shut up. He knew Dean was just fucking with him, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to stand for at least several minutes without revealing how much it was affecting him.

His hand was shaking slightly when he picked up his beer bottle, and he closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. It was failed effort, he realized, when Dean leaned in close again to ask,

“Do you have to imagine it’s me to get hard when you’re with one of your one night stands? You’re fucking hard right now, aren’t you? Damn, Sam, I’m your fucking brother, not one of your bar pick-ups.”

Sam bit back a low whine, turning up his beer bottle instead to finish the contents. He placed the empty back on the bar and stared at it, trying to keep his eyes away from Dean. Again, failed effort. He couldn’t help but glance at the man, and found Dean watching him with a smirk on his mouth. Dean finished his own beer and set the bottle on the bar top, before leaning in to breathe against his ear,

“Get up. Walk out of here, just like you are. Let everyone in this place see how fucking hard you are. Maybe I’ll tell them you’re that way because you’re hot for your own brother. Let everyone see how fucked up you really are.”

His dick jerked hard at the whispered words, and he couldn’t stop the soft sound that escaped him. Dean chuckled near his ear, causing him to shiver, and repeated,  
“Get the fuck up and walk out of here, Sam. Right now. Or would you prefer to do it after I’ve made you come, so everyone can see what a filthy fucking slut you are?”

“Dean..” his own voice was a ragged whisper, barely audible above the bar music. His brother heard it, however, and his features went hard. 

“Get. Up. Now.”

Sam swallowed, thought for half a second about refusing, but found himself getting off the bar stool. His cock was straining hard against his jeans, face flushed in his humiliation and embarrassment. 

Dean slid off his own stool and stepped close to instruct,  
“Walk out of here, right now, or I’m going to make you fucking crawl across this floor.”

His cock jerked again, and he swallowed down his moan. He obeyed and headed for the bar’s exit, eyes on the floor. The rational part of his mind was telling him that it was dimly-lit in here, people probably couldn’t even tell how turned on he was; the other part, the part that _wanted_ more of Dean’s harsh, humiliating words, was ignoring that rational side completely. 

By the time they exited the bar, crossed the parking lot, and reached the Impala, Sam could barely even think straight. He obeyed, hand fumbling with the door handle, as Dean instructed him,  
“Get in the car, slut.”

The short drive back to the motel was a blank in his mind.  
He found himself standing in front of the door of their motel room minutes after leaving the bar. Before he could reach into his pocket for the key, Dean’s fingers were wrapped in his hair, pulling his head back. 

Sam couldn’t hold back to low moan which escaped him as Dean’s fingers caught and pulled his hair. He shivered almost violently in need as the older man practically growled,  
“Look at you, standing out in the open and practically begging to be fucked. And by your own goddamn brother. Maybe I’ll make you strip and stand out here all night, with your fucking cock dripping, so everyone driving by can see you. You want that, bitch?”

“Please..” the whispered word left his lips before he realized it, and he flushed yet again in shame. 

“Filthy slut,” Dean growled, unlocking the door with his free hand as his fingers tightened in Sam’s hair. When he had the door open, he shoved Sam inside, guiding him with the hand in his hair. 

Sam moaned softly as his brother closed the motel door and ordered immediately,  
“Get on your knees.”

The younger man complied, sinking to his knees, his eyes on Dean’s face. He averted his gaze as his brother smacked him lightly across the face and barked, “Don’t fucking look at me, you filthy whore.”

His entire body was shaking, his dick was dripping in his boxers, and he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself from coming if his brother continued talking to him as he was. “Dean, please..” the words were a whispered plea from his lips, but he wasn’t certain if he was begging his brother to stop or to continue.

“Please what, Sam?” Dean mocked, jerking his head back by his hair, “Please tell you what a sick, worthless whore you are? Please fuck your mouth? Please stop? What?” 

The moan that escaped him was low, desperate, and Dean growled and tightened his grip on his hair. 

“Open your fucking mouth.”

Sam obeyed immediately, eyes closed as he opened his mouth. His entire body jerked, a kind of shocked, aroused thrill running through him, as Dean spit suddenly in his mouth. His brother did it a second time, then instructed, voice low and gravelly, “Swallow.”

Sam obeyed immediately, swallowing down his brother’s spit; his body jerked again as he received a sharp slap across the face. 

“Gonna look good with my cum all over your face,” Dean growled, jerking his head close. Sam moaned as his face was pressed against Dean’s crotch: he mouthed at his brother through the denim of his jeans, tonguing the rough fabric to trace the outline of Dean’s erection. 

Sam opened his eyes, pupils blown wide, as two fingers were shoved suddenly in his mouth. He sucked them hungrily, eyes on his brother’s face; Dean was staring down at him, lips parted and his own pupils lust-blown. 

“Suck ‘em, whore,” Dean growled, shoving his fingers deeper. Sam gagged slightly, recovered and sucked the long digits. Dean released the grip on his hair long enough to undo the button and zip of his jeans. Then he was grabbing Sam by the hair again, pulling his head closer and shoving his fingers still deeper. 

When his brother growled, “fucking filthy slut” and spat in his face, Sam nearly lost it. His cock jerked hard, leaking pre-cum, and he arched his hips toward the other man. 

“You want to hump me like the bitch you are, Sam?” Dean shifted to press a leg between Sam’s spread thighs – the younger man whimpered around the fingers he was sucking as it was pressed hard against his aching, leaking dick. He pressed his hips forward again, rocking his dick against Dean’s leg, and moaned at the thrill of pleasure that coursed through him.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed, jerking the fingers from his mouth. They were replaced moments later by the head of his cock; Sam moaned hungrily, opening wider, as his brother pushed into his mouth.

He didn’t even realise he was grinding his throbbing dick against Dean’s leg as the older man grabbed him by the hair with both hands and began to fuck into his mouth. He was too focused on the way his brother’s cock was filling his mouth, the taste of the other man covering his tongue and lighting his entire body on fire. He had been dreaming of this for years; the feel of Dean using him, filling his mouth and man-handling him as he pleased. 

“Take it, bitch,” Dean shifted his hips to shove deeper, choking the younger man before pulling out and ramming back in again, “Fucking take it, whore. You want more, you dirty slut? Want me to come in that fucking mouth?” He ground in hard, deep, and Sam moaned and grasped his thighs, holding on as his brother used his mouth, “Want me to fuck your tight little cunt, Sam? Fill you with my come, you fucking slut?”

Dean jerked him close, burying himself in Sam’s mouth, and began to shoot his load. Sam swallowed shot after shot of the hot, bitter-sweet fluid, drinking down all he could; his own cry of pleasure was muffled by the dick in his mouth as he began to come hard, rocking against Dean’s leg, fingers digging into his thighs.

He was licking his brother’s spent dick clean when Dean finally slid out of his mouth and released the hold on his hair. 

“Look at you,” Dean’s voice was slightly breathless as he recovered, “Came in your jeans again. Just can’t stop doing that, can you?” The other man stepped back, away from him, “Came without my permission, too. For that, you can wear those jeans all night as punishment.” 

“Dean..” he started, lips red and swollen, voice hoarse.

“Uh uh,” Dean interrupted with a shake of his head, “Dirty whores don’t get to speak. Get in the bed, just like you are. You take ‘em off and I’ll beat your ass.”

Sam hesitated a moment, trying to steady his own breathing; he obeyed and climbed, unsteadily, to his feet, as his brother repeated, “Bed. Now!” He crossed to the bed and crawled into it, shifting uncomfortably as his wet, cum-soaked jeans and boxers rubbed against him.

Sam was more than a little surprised when Dean crawled onto the bed next to him a minute later. The man grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head close; Sam moaned as Dean’s mouth found and claimed his own. 

“Did good,” his brother breathed against his lips when they parted finally, “Took it so well, Sammy, like a good little cockslut.” Another long, possessive kiss had Sam practically melting against his brother’s body, completely compliant in the man’s hands. 

“Get some sleep,” Dean murmured against his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip, “I’m going to use that cocksucking mouth again soon, so get some sleep while you can.”

He whispered, “Want that,” and leaned into the possessive arm which wrapped around him. A shiver coursed through him as his brother whispered against his temple, "You're a good boy, Sam. _My_ good boy."  
A soft, pleased sigh escaped him at Dean's words, words he had wanted to hear for half his life. He shifted, trying to ignore his cold, wet boxers and jeans, and closed his eyes to sleep.


End file.
